


Pound For Pound

by Barb Cummings (Rahirah)



Series: The Barbverse [69]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M, Humor, Romance, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-19
Updated: 2009-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-03 10:14:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rahirah/pseuds/Barb%20Cummings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A meditation upon the virtues of vigorous exercise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pound For Pound

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set in the same universe as _A Raising in the Sun_, _Necessary Evils_, et. al. (See the [Barbverse Timeline](http://sleepingjaguars.com/buffy/viewpage.php?page=timeline) for specifics.) It contains spoilers for previous works in the series.

The Slayer gig imparted many valuable life lessons. Such as "Pre-treat the bloodstains immediately," and "If at first you don't succeed, get a bazooka." It also gave you a heightened appreciation of the quiet moments, i.e. the ones where a sword was not in fact coming directly towards your face, moments which might otherwise have slipped on past unnoticed. Like curling up on Egyptian cotton sheets in the golden light of a dozen candles, perusing a smorgasbord of fashion-forward literature, and watching Spike putter through various bedtime Guy Rituals before joining her.

Buffy peeked over the top of her _Elle_ as the tap cut off in the bathroom, and Spike ambled into the bedroom, barefoot and ruffled. Yawned, stretched, scratched. Turned out his pockets (pack of Marlboros, lighter, loose change, jack-knife, trophy ear). Skinned his t-shirt over his head in a ripple of ivory muscle. Got distracted by the broken-spined paperback on the dresser. Stood there for a minute, scratching his chest (mmm, Spike chest) and squinting at the adventures of Remo Williams at arm's length. Yawned again, set the book down, tossed the t-shirt in the general direction of the clothes hamper. (Progress. Someday, he'd figure out that the top opened.) Started to undo his belt buckle.

Stopped. Frowned. Poked a disapproving finger at the quarter-inch of fat sleeking over the cut-diamond precision of his abs. Pinched the little hillock of belly below his navel with a _tch_ of irritation. "Christ, I'm getting soft," he muttered.

Buffy hid the twitch of her lips demurely behind her magazine. Spike's definition of getting soft was anything over ten percent body fat - at least, where he was concerned. She wasn't so much with the Dueling Hipbones any longer, either, but Spike never seemed to mind _that_. In fact, she sometimes suspected him of quietly adulterating the low-fat yoghurt in an insidious campaign to keep her jeans as tight as possible. "That's the fate of slackers who only manage to get in a hundred sit-ups a day," she said gravely. "They bloat up to a thirty-two inch waist."

Spike kicked out of his jeans with the same dispatch with which he'd disposed of the t-shirt and pounced her with a mock-growl, scattering the fashion-forward smorgasbord to the floor. They tumbled across the bed, getting tangled in the sheets, Buffy thwacking him over the head with her trusty _Elle_ until he pinned her to the mattress. "Slacker, am I?" he rumbled, nipping beneath her jaw. "Your fault I'm too busy to get my proper exercise, innit? All this business of earning an honest living?" He nudged a knee between her thighs, settled against her. "Not to mention certain Slayers of my acquaintance tarting about smelling like heaven once a month. Mortal sin to waste a drop. Encouraging a bloke to over-indulgence, I call it."

"Oh, my fault?' Buffy's eyes widened, all innocence. "And nothing at all to do with the extra pint of ferret after dinner?'

"That's different," Spike countered virtuously. "Got to keep my strength up for the never-ending battle against villainy, haven't I?"

Impossible to conceal that lip-twitch now. She gave his biceps a judicious squeeze. "I must admit, your strategy does seem to be working." A roll and a twist and she was on top again, straddling his hips with a wriggle that won her an appreciative leer. "My fault, hmm?" she mused. "So what do you weigh now, one-seventy? And this - " she gave his tummy a pat, " - is what, five pounds of it?"

She leaned forward, hands sliding up his torso, up to the muscled breadth of his chest and shoulders, down again in feather-strokes along the line of his hips, circling in towards his belly. "And really? Not a bad five pounds. Compact. Comfy. Springy, yet firm. And when you pet it juuuust right..." She raked her nails lightly up his stomach, and Spike gave a full-body shudder. His cock was stirring to life, and she shifted her hips to take advantage, cradling him in the juncture of her thighs. "The way I see it, it being my fault? Makes this five pounds - " she bent low, her breath a ghostly heat-trail across cool flesh. " - my property. To kiss - " lips brushed skin, " - and lick - " tongue-tip dipped into navel, " - and nibble - " white teeth nipped at the soft curve of flesh, " - and squeeze - ;" fingers dug in, kneading and stroking, " - whenever... I... want."

His swelling cock bobbed drunkenly in the angle between his belly and hers. She slipped two fingers into the warmth welling between her legs, teased slickness along the big vein on the underside of its shaft, painted glistening swirls around the head. "Deal?"

Spike's response was an incoherent growl. He went boneless, his eyelids fluttering to half-mast. Then his eyes flew open, and in a trice (she didn't know exactly how long a trice was, but judging by how fast Spike moved when he wanted to, not very) he'd rolled them over again, giving her a smack across the rear on the way for good measure. "Done," he said, with a tongue-curling grin, "but only if I get the same deal on your luscious little bum."

She glared up at him. "OK, now _that_ is not fighting fair."

He chuckled and gave her backside a squeeze. "Ah, well. Got to remember, love, I _am_ evil."

END


End file.
